- 11 -

"I know what I want to do in Atlanta."

We were back on the road. I was playing a video game with Dustin. He was doing well back at home, just visiting his grandmother in the hospital during the day and keeping his mom from losing her mind (bless her soul).

I looked over at Noah, who was smiling deviously at me from the table. He had been considerably more chipper since the day of the dolphin tour. I hadn't done much partying, either. Granted, it had only been less three days, but still. Hanging around with Noah felt a little bit . . . relaxing, for lack of a better term.

"What's that?" I asked, sliding my headset off of one ear. Dustin was grumbling about whoever killed him in game and I wanted to hear what Noah said.

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Six Flags."

I pressed my mouth into a straight line. "Really?"

The last thing I wanted to do was knock the smile off of Noah's face, but I did not want to go to Six Flags. I had limits, too, you know.

He faltered. "Well, I could go."

And then I got the pitiful image of a lonely Noah Russo riding the Batman ride all by himself, a drooping stick of cotton candy in his hand. His poor little pouty lips stuck out in an unrealistic manner. My heart skipping a beat in my chest.

"No, no," I mumbled, disrupting Chester, who was laying pressed up against my leg on the couch. "We can go, I promise."

Noah squinted at me. "What's wrong with Six Flags?"

"Nothing!" I sighed, gripping my controller. He stared at me so intensely that I couldn't take it anymore, looking away with a grumble. I muted my microphone so Dustin wouldn't hear me, though I was sure he already knew the truth. "I'm afraid of heights and will not ride any roller coasters."

I didn't look at him for a moment, just focusing on the TV so I wouldn't have to see his reaction to my embarrassing confession. It wasn't the end of the world. I didn't have very many instances where I was at a great height, except for plane rides. But those didn't freak me out as much. Riding a rickety cart with a bunch of other people, barely missing the weight limit, doing loop-de-loops and drops? Abso-fuckin'-lutely not.

When I did meet Noah's eyes, he was unsuccessfully fighting a grin. I rolled my eyes.

"But . . . you're Theo Thorne?" he said with a giggle. "I didn't think you were afraid of anything!"

"If your stupid cat wasn't sleeping on me, I would get up and hit you," I said, but I was smiling, too. Dustin asked about how the show in Miami was, so I unmuted my microphone and told him all about it.

I pretended, for his sake, that everything was off without him here. The truth was, I was having a blast with Noah. I loved touring with Dustin, don't get me wrong. He was my rock, my best friend.

But just hanging out with Noah was new. And fresh. I couldn't explain it.

"I'll be on your European leg, bro," Dustin said before yelling profanities at the other team. "Mark my words. I don't know what my grandma got planned, but she better figure it out."

I snorted. "You want Nana to plan her funeral, too?"

Dustin fake wept. "If that's what it takes."

We fucked around for hours with Noah and I taking turns playing. I fell asleep watching him play a slower paced game long after Dustin got off. For whatever reason, I woke up in the middle of the night with my legs draped across his lap and he was still awake, watching some kind of Youtube series.

He turned his head when he saw me stir and adjusted his arms that were resting on my legs. "Hi," he said, his voice a bit gruff from not sleeping.

"Sorry," I mumbled, pulling my legs off of him. He didn't seem to mind too much. "Why didn't you go to bed?"

Noah looked around, shrugging. "Can't sleep too well on the bus," he said. "I usually smoke to help me sleep, but I forgot to buy some before we left Cali."

I perked up. "I have some."

He gave me a look, like Go on, then, and I stood up. I had to level myself on my way to my feet, the bus braking at the very second I rose. My hand flew to hold onto something and, ever-so-conveniently, grabbed onto his thigh.

Our eyes met and I stood straight. "My bad, bro," I said and forced a laugh, but I couldn't force the blush that was creeping up my neck. He just nodded at me and went back to looking at the TV, but I didn't recover as quickly.

My body was such a traitor.

Touching him felt like setting my skin ablaze. It wasn't even a sexy touch either. I literally touched his fucking pants and I was feeling heat creep up my neck. No way I had a fucking crush on him. I hadn't had a crush since I was eight.

I made haste to distract myself by pulling out the bag—Dustin and I splurged and bought a pound before the tour started—and Noah's eyes widened a bit. It felt good to impress him.

We smoked while watching whatever it was he already had on. It was apparently some documentary-type Youtube channel about the history of the ancient Hebrews. I stared blankly at the TV because it was probably the most boring piece of entertainment I'd ever seen and my eyelids kept drooping until he passed the blunt. We kept this rotation going until we were both pleasantly stoned. I wasn't sure he even cared about the history of Hebrews. I wasn't sure he even realized it was on.

"You can have my bed, if you want," I said, too high to feel nervous about it. "I'll crash on the couch."

"I'm not taking your bed," he replied.

I shrugged. "I saw you sleeping in it the other day and I know it's comfortable, so . . . I insist," I said with a lopsided grin. Noah looked at me with an unamused expression.

He shook his head. "You're the one working right now. I'm not gonna be the reason the world's precious Theo Thorne has a sore back from sleeping on a tour bus couch." I gave him a look that said Really? and he just shook his head again.

"We can share it then," I said. "Might help with the insomnia."

"How would having another person in my bed help with my insomnia?" Noah asked with narrowed eyes.

I was running out of excuses at this point. He had me there. I didn't really know what I was saying, I was just hoping he wouldn't question it. Dumb of me, considering who I was talking to. "I don't know. I just want you to be comfortable," I said honestly.

"I am comfortable. You don't have to worry about me so much. I'm having a good time, okay?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Seriously, Theo."

I clamped my mouth shut and nodded. Maybe I just wanted to sleep beside him. Perhaps I wanted to sleep with the warmth of Noah's body inches away from mine. None of this I would say out loud, of course, but I knew it to be true.

Eventually, I was too tired to pretend to pay attention to the documentary anymore so I said my goodnight. Chester followed me to my room, a purring monster at my feet, and we laid down restlessly. It seemed as soon as I stood up, the less tired I felt. I stared at the blank TV screen on the wall and wished even harder that Noah was laying beside me. We could even use Chester as a barrier between us. I wouldn't mind.

"What are we gonna do?" I whispered to the orange menace. "Am I as pathetic as I feel?"

He stared at me with those big yellow eyes. Instead of ignoring me like he usually did, he gave me a sandpapery lick on the back of my hand. I took that as a 'yes' and rolled over onto my side. I wondered how late Noah would be up tonight and if I should have kept him company. He claimed smoking helped him sleep, so I hoped that was true.

I'd bet money he'd sleep even better on my chest.

-

"What are you writing?"

I looked up from the empty page in my purple notebook. Noah was standing at one of the windows and watching the world go by. He was sort of quietly poetic like that. I noticed it a few days ago how he'd always stare off into the scenery or take an extra minute to appreciate the locations we visited.

Blowing air past my lips, I threw my pencil down in defeat. "I'm trying to write some music, but I just fucking can't," I said bitterly. My mental blockade for all things lyrical was still standing strong. I got close one night, but as soon as pencil hit paper, I drew a blank again.

"Can I help?" Noah asked, his voice shrunken in the loud bus.

"You write songs?" I asked in surprise, failing to hide the way my eyebrows shot up.

He shrugged, striding towards the table to take a seat beside me. I immediately smelled his cologne and the cheap shampoo he used. "More like poetry, I guess, but yeah," he said. His knee bumped mine under the table but neither of us made any effort to move. "What are you thinking? Ballad or something upbeat?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but didn't really know what to say. He seemed to catch onto my obliviousness and nodded coolly, taking the notebook from me. I sat back and watched him thumb through the pages backwards to check out what I'd been working on and, eventually, given up on. He seemed disinterested for a while until he came upon a page that piqued his attention.

His pretty brown eyes scanned the stanzas over and over again. I leaned forward to see which one was the lucky winner and my cheeks warmed in recognition.

I tried to cover the page and take the book back but he gripped it tightly. "Oh, uh, that one's stupid. I was in my feelings one night and had a little too much vodka, so I—"

"This is really fucking good." Noah looked up at me and knocked the breath from my lungs. He looked genuinely impressed, his eyes a bit wide and his lips parted. I tried to shake my head in dismissal, but he grabbed the pencil. "No, seriously, Theo. I've never heard anything like this. It's real."

Butterflies decided it was a good time to nestle into my belly. "I don't know. It's a lot sadder than my usual shit," I said, nibbling at my bottom lip. "I didn't think my writers would like it."

"Fuck it," he said. "Record a little bit and post it on Instagram and see what your actual fans think. I have a feeling they'll be waiting for it on your next album."

I stared at him. How was he so sure?

Noah shrugged, marking certain lines or adding suggested lyrics in the margins. We sat there for nearly an hour, brainstorming and bonding over lyrics that I truly felt he understood. It wasn't like talking about this with Dustin. He knew what the hell I was on about when I talked about the loneliness of being the center of attention. Noah didn't say a word about the darker connotations behind my lyrics because he got it. He just got it.

"Thank you," I said after a moment of us just sitting there, rereading the first draft. "I really need some reassurance."

He quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything. I wanted to know what he was thinking. He didn't smile much, I noticed, but when he did it was almost like I could read his mind. I could see if it was fake or forced or all too real. The things that amused him or drew out a false, accommodating half-grin. But when he wasn't smiling? I got nothing from him. He was a constant enigma, an equation I couldn't quite solve. Every method I used went to waste.

I started singing the lyrics on the page to a tune I hadn't quite perfected. Noah stared at me, not fearing from watching my lips form the words or my fleeting glances towards him.

"I love it," he said when I finished.

"Me, too."

After a couple more tweaks, I gave up and stood up to find some liquor. I was bored and decided I wanted some entertainment. I made my own twist on a Jack and Coke with root beer instead. Noah grimaced at the sight. We settled onto the couch to find a movie.

I paused my scrolling when Road to Serendipity came up on my suggested titles. Noah sucked air through his teeth. We looked at each other as if to say, Do we dare? With a maniacal laugh, I pressed play. He curled up beside me with a blanket and shook his head.

"I haven't watched this since the premiere," he said.

My jaw dropped. "What?"

"It's so cringe," he said. "I can watch almost anything I was in except this fucking movie. I don't know why."

"This is cinematic history, Noah," I said. We watched the opening credits with bated breath, half-amused and half-anxious.

I suppose the idea of seeing our younger selves, spritely and full of energy, on screen together was sort of preternatural. We had so much chemistry from how close we bonded outside of set. You could see it a mile away. Two kids with spotlight dreams who'd never expect the harsh reality of our futures. It was chilling.

And when the scene where my character, Max, finds out that Noah's character, Peter, died came on? I cried like a fucking baby. I couldn't help it.

The tears tumbled silently down my cheeks. It was almost too close to home. We'd built this platform with the two of us, Noah and I. The whiskey made me think about how it was almost like at some point, when Noah and I stopped talking every day like we used to, he did die. He died, slowly and from the inside out. While I had to keep living this life and put a brave face on.

If Noah noticed my crying, he didn't say anything. I wiped at my face roughly and sipped my drink. He didn't say a word the entire movie, but I didn't expect him to.

When it was over, we just sat there for a moment. It was a feeling of reflection.

"Cringe," was all he could say. I managed to cough out a laugh.

"It was a little cringey," I said. "But still."

Noah hummed, still tightly wrapped in the blanket on the end of the couch. I wanted to slip under the covers with him, to feel his warmth and share it together. He would never be down for that, I figured, but at least I could wish. I found a different corny movie from our childhood, one that didn't star either of us.

I stole a glance over at him. His curly hair was flattened a bit under his hoodie. His lips were so pink, maybe raw and chapped. What would it feel like to kiss them? Rough or soft?

He caught me looking and I looked away. Get your shit together, Theo.